


The Mysterious Tale of the Steamed Murders

by Greenabsinthia



Category: Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, F/F, Steampunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-07
Updated: 2012-06-07
Packaged: 2017-11-07 04:45:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/427035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greenabsinthia/pseuds/Greenabsinthia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Originally posted on ff.net on December 4th, 2011. Bella is forced to move to Washington when her mother remarries. Although, Washington is dreary she meets some exciting characters. But something is afoot in the town of Port Angeles. Five women have been abducted and murdered. What happens next? Entry for THE CURVACEOUS AND BODACIOUS BOMBSHELL FIC CONTEST. AH & OOC.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mysterious Tale of the Steamed Murders

ENTRY FOR THE CURVACEOUS AND BODACIOUS BOMBSHELL FIC CONTEST

Story Name: The Mysterious Tale of the Steamed Murders

Genre: Steampunk, Murder Mystery, Femslash

Pairing: Bella/Rose

Total Word Count: 6556

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

 

**Part the First**

_Isabella Marie Swan  
The A/S Hydrangea  
Airspace above Washington, June 14th 1890_

_Ideally, this is not how one's life should turn out. Though, life is never what one imagines it to be. The ideal is, thus, superfluous._

_Scandal; is the one uniform in my life which I can rely on, and the reason for this voluntary exile I have imposed on myself._

_My Mother, the notorious actress Renée Higgenbotham, decided after much contemplation, approximately ten minutes, that the life at the edge of the stage was not a proper place for her daughter. A decision influenced by her new benefactor turned husband, Mr. Philip Dwyer. I will not berate him anything; he is a good man. One of the few along with my father, Sheriff Charles Swan III. Or so I'm told._

_I have met only my father a few times during the span of my short life. Of course we have corresponded through the new crystalline voice automat. However, for reasons unbeknownst to me, he still prefers old fashioned letters, which take weeks to reach me. And he still writes them by hand. By hand! I use my trusted portable, hydraulic powered calligrapher, the Orator 1000, programmed to clone my handwriting. It is indeed a marvel of the new world and merely a fraction of the wonders its creator Dr. Carlisle Cullen has designed to better the world._

_In order to reform herself, my Mother stepped out of the music halls and into society as a dutiful wife. It was decided that I should acquire an education becoming a young lady. The fact that I am fluent in seven languages (including Latin and Greek), and knowledgeable world history, from ancient civilisations to modern society, did not enter into the equation. I was given the choice of going to The Misses Volturi's Institute for Young Ladies in Boston, or move to Port Angeles, Washington to live with my father. The prospect of endless etiquette and needlepoint lessons in the hopes of ascertaining the right husband does not figure into my plan for the future. Marriage is not an institution I wish to become a part of, especially not with my parents' failed one as an example. All of these circumstances are the reason I'm sitting here onboard the good dirigible Hydrangea, in the æther above the State of Washington._

**Part the Second**

I was sipping a cup of weak tea as we descended into the Olympic Peninsula Landing Zone. I couldn't wait for a good strong cup of coffee. Weak tea and steamed meals, even the bread was steamed, were what the New York Airship Company chose to serve their passengers on the week long voyage from New York City to Port Angeles, via Chicago, Denver, and San Francisco. Any gas or fire operated appliances were banned due to fear of explosions. My books and trusted Orator 1000 were my only solace for the duration. I prefer my feet firmly planted on the ground. However, the idea of travelling for weeks in a stage coach across the country was not something I was willing to put myself through. Not to mention the trip in the more rural areas could prove perilous. Attempts had been made, in the South Americas, of steam operated coaches, but the outcome had been fatal.

The whale bones in my corset were digging into my sides something awful. The woman's body was not designed for these contraptions, least of all one like mine with a more than ample bosom and wide enough hips to give birth to triplets without much trouble. Or so my Mother had told me. The jolts and drops of the dirigible did not help the matter either. Mother's parting words had been, "Now, I know I have given you a lot of freedom. Too much freedom. But do try to dress appropriately, Bella dear." _Freedom my…I would much rather have my freedom than be trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey._

The stewards had urged the passengers to take the deck and watch the landing. I decided to stay in my cabin since I'd probably fall to my death if I went outside. And wouldn't that be a most disagreeable outcome to this new adventure of mine?

When we were firmly on the ground the captain announced that we were cleared to disembark. The rain and wind made the simple walk off the airship a challenge. The porters were ruthlessly shoving my travelling chests without out a care for the precious cargo inside. My books and research journals.

"Be careful with those!" I yelled, running down the boardwalk and making a not so graceful landing, face first, on the ground. My satchel gave a loud thud as it landed on my head. Had I been able to breathe in the infernal corset I would have had the air knocked out of me as well.

A pair of leather boots were the first thing I saw as I raised my mud covered face. One hand reached down to help me up, the other handed me a ragged handkerchief.

"Thank you."

The man in question only grunted a polite response. _Ah, my father._

Mud somewhat removed from my face, I tried to remove some of the muck from my dress to no avail. _My best dress. I hope there's a decent Chinese laundry in town._

"Hello Father."

"Bella. Well, welcome to Port Angeles."

"Thank you."

"Mmh hum," he grunted. "We should get you home to clean up. The porters have loaded your trunks onto the wagon."

_Wagon? Good lord._

It is hard to carry mud covered attire with dignity, but I would not let this minor mishap spoil my arrival. The not so subtle boost Father had to give me to get into the wagon did exactly that for all of busy people of Port Angeles to see. Scandalous.

My Father's lodgings were the apartment above the newly built Police Department. Though only containing two bedrooms, a little kitchen, common room, and even a small indoor toilet, the apartment was spacious.  
You had to enter through the Police Department to get to it. When we arrived, a few officers were 'escorting' a rather dubious looking male out of the department. He had a menacing presence, almost savage like, with light brown, short hair and dressed in what seemed to be animal hides. However, his eyes were the indicator of his vicious nature. Red. Blood-shot, red eyes glowed in this dirty face.

"Who was that man?" I asked.

"Detectives Michael Newton and Eric Yorkie, which one did you mean?"

"No, the other one?"

"Oh just some vagabond looking for trouble. He spent the night in a cell. Nothing to worry about."

My room was small, but comfortable. The walls were painted light blue and there was even a desk and book shelves for all of my books and papers.

I had barely started unpacking when my Father announced that we had been invited to dinner at the house of some of his friends, and that it was only a short trip outside of town. At this, I did what any person just having spent days inside a floating carriage would do. I sulked.

**Part the Third**

To my Father 'a short trip' outside of town was an agonizing hour long ride in the contraption he called a wagon. The poor old horse could barely pull us all the way to the home of his, so-called, 'friends' who had so 'graciously' invited us for dinner. Luckily, I had managed to find a suitable laundry. My dress now looked in a better state than when I arrived. Pre fall that is.

"Honestly, Bella. I wish you would stop sulking. The Cullens are perfectly amiable people. And I consider Dr. Cullen to be a friend. They have two daughters your age, you know?"

The mind is a wondrous apparatus, susceptible to absorb or reject the smallest amount of information, depending on one's current state of mind. Which is why it took me a few minutes to notice my father's mention of his friend's name. I was, after all, 'sulking'.

"Did you say Dr. Cullen? As in _the_ Doctor Carlisle Cullen," in these matters the full name is imperative, "inventor of the Orator 1000? Dr. Carlisle Cullen, who has done extensive research on and perfected the use of automats for analysis and processing of urban crime scenes? Not to forget his large published work on the psyches of criminals and degenerates, as well as the lasting effect on the victims of the before mentioned groups? That Dr. Cullen?"

By the time I had finished my little interrogation I was out of breath. That, or the infernal corset I was wearing that was trying forcing the life out of me.

"Hmm well," my Father grunted. "I suppose. I'm not familiar with his work outside of being a physician. He is the only doctor in town, you know? And a damn good on at that."

"Not know? How could you possible not know? Dr. Cullen is only the most brilliant physician, scientist, andphysiologist in America. If not the entire world! Really, Father," I said, exasperatedly.

"Hmm," was his only reply.

We rode in silence for a while until the excitement got the better of me.

"Are we there yet?"

"Hmm…"

I do not know what one expects the residence of a master scientist to look like. Decorated by all things modern and steam powered, I imagined. However, that was not the case of the Cullens' house, well, mansion I should say. It looked like one of those grand plantation homes in the South. What I did not expect to see was the entire drive up to the house and lawn illuminated by thousands upon thousands of tiny white and purple paper lanterns.

A young boy, a servant I suppose, helped me down from the wagon. I tried smoothing out the wrinkles on my dress that had undoubtedly resulted from the ride. Out of character for him, my Father offered me his arm as we walked up the steps to the house.

"They're just regular people, Bella," he murmured.

The door opened, and there he was, _Doctor Carlisle Cullen_.

"Charlie! My friend, come in. And you must be Bella. Come in. Come in. Welcome."

This was my moment. This was where I had my chance to tell Dr. Cullen how inspiring I thought his work was. But all I did was gap at him until I was interrupted by a whirlwind in dove blue silk hurrying down the grand staircase and embracing me in a fierce hug.

"Bella, you are finally here!" the dove exclaimed. "Oh we are going to be such good friends. I just know it. We are going to have such fun together. Nothing never ever happens in this town and you, my darling, are the best thing that has happened since dupioni silk was invented. Now let me have a look at you." She extracted herself from the hug only to hold me at arms length to study me.

"You will have to excuse Alice," Dr. Cullen chuckled. "She has been excited to meet you. As you have probably found out this town of ours is rather dreary."

"And you are just the thing to put a little light into all this dreariness. Goodness me, you are all covered up. Bella, why are you covered up? With a bosom and hips like yours, you should be wearing an off-the-shoulder gown. You would not even need a bustle only a crinoline. I have just the thing!"

This was all too much. I felt the blush creep up my face and out of the corner of my eyes I could see the same happening to my father.

"Alice, you are embarrassing the poor girl. Slow down," A soothing voice said.

A beautiful bronzed hair angel slowly descended the stairs, walked right up to me and took both my hands in hers.

"I'm Mrs. Cullen. Please, call me Esme. We are not so formal here, but we do have some form of decorum, which my daughter seems to have forgotten. Now, let me introduce you properly to everyone."

The room seemed to have been filled with more people. How many I did not know, as at this point I was finding the craftsmanship of the mahogany floors intriguing. Mrs. Cullen, Esme, pbut an arm around my waist, guiding me through the room.

"Carlisle you have met, and, please, do call him Carlisle. Dr. Cullen just strokes his ego," she giggled. "Alice, of course. And the strapping young man here next to her is her husband, Major Jasper Whitlock of the 1st Dirigible Force."

The Major clicked his heals together and saluted me with an, "At your service, Ma'am."

"The big brute here is Emmett McCarty, civilian Chief Engineer with the 1st Dirigible Force, and the husband of our eldest daughter, Rosalie. Where is she, Emmett?" No sooner had the words left her mouth when a vision in sea-foam green with golden locks glided down the stairs.

Not a vision. A Goddess.

The Siamese silk cascaded down her curvaceous body and billowed around her feet into a long train behind her. Hundreds of crystals adorned the bodice of her gown, shimmering like the first rays of the morning sun on the sea after a tempest.

She was Aphrodite rising from the sea.

Had we been on our own I would have worshipped at her feet and begged her to take us back to the sea.

This time it was assuredly not my rambling mouth or too tightly laced corset which were the cause of my breathlessness, but the shear beauty of the creature walking towards me.

"Miss Swan," the Goddess acknowledged.

I couldn't speak, think or even construct a suitable reply. Had Esme's arm not been around my waist I fear I would have fainted and made a scandal of our visit. Before I could succeed in another failure of extravagant proportions, a person cleared his throat. Esme swirled us around as if we were waltzing the night away.

"And this, my dear, is Edward."

I'm sure ladies of all ages and any stature would have swooned over the sight of Edward. A handsome, dashing dandy. An artist without a doubt, judging by his attire. He stood, nonchalant, leaning against the door frame, swivelling of a glass of brandy in his hands. He appeared rather indifferent to the large party gathered in the foyer and retreated into, what I assumed was, the dining room.

"Ah yes," Carlisle interjected. "We should eat."

The dining room was an remarkable affair; white walls decorated with large gold frames and windows draped with the most beautiful ivory and gold damask drapes. Scattered across the room were crystal vases with white Persian roses. The room was only illuminated by a chandelier, which cast a soft glow over the assembly. I have no recollection of what was served that particular night, or any night I spent at the Cullens' after this one, to tell the truth. I do remember that it was unusually quiet after the welcome I had received. Until of course, Edward decided to acknowledge my presence.

"Tell me, Miss Swan, what is life like on the stage? Are the New York theatres any different than say those of Chicago? I'm rather fond of New York. A lecherous city, don't you find?"

"Edward, that's enough!" Carlisle hissed, while everybody else gasped. "Bella, please accept my apologies on my son's behalf."

_What a conniving little twit. I'll show him..._

"There is no need to apologize, Dr. Cullen. None at all. Mr. Cullen, I am not sure what you mean by 'on the stage' since I was never there, but spent my time off the stage in my Mother's dressing room studying while she was rehearsing, and at night I was at home. As for New York being a 'lecherous city', I am confidant you would know better than I."

"Bella!" My Father chided, finally deciding to join our little dinner party, while out the corner of my eye I could see Alice and Major Whitlock trying hard not to laugh. To my surprise there was a slight smile on Rosalie's lips.

"Mr. Cullen asked me a question, Father. I was taught to always answer a question when asked."

My father sputtered something unintelligible.

My boldness, however, seemed to have fuelled something within Mr. Cullen. Something lethal.

_En garde, Mr Cullen._

"Speaking of your Mother. I've heard quite the stories about the infamous Renée Higgenbotham. How is she? Still enjoying the fruits of her, _ahem_ , benefactors I trust?"

"My Mother is now married and has retired from the stage. At this point I believe she is taking in the sights of Europe on her honeymoon. She has quite reformed her ways."

" _Reformed._ Yes, I'm sure. I took you for a believer in women's rights, but now I see I was mistaken. Yes, married life is the only suitable occupation for women. That, or the oldest trade in the world."

"Are you referring to potters, Mr. Cullen? And as for reforming one's life, one can be married while still be independent, believe in and be an advocate for women's rights."

"I should hope so," Esme burst out. "It is not the women who are the problem, but the men. They need reforming."

"Hear. Hear," Alice quipped.

"What were you studying, Bella?" Carlisle asked.

"Well, umm, everything really. Whatever I could get my hands on."

Even though my father had been noticeably quiet through most of dinner, since I arrived in Port Angeles really, he had impeccable timing when it came to embarrassing me at the most inopportune moments.

"Bella has read and, if I'm not mistaken, owns all of your books, Carlisle."

"Dear girl, why on earth would you want to read that gibberish? There are far more accomplished people in the world than I," he said, modestly.

"But your works are inspiring! Your works on forensics, criminology and victimology are far more in-dept than those of Drs. Johnston and Lewiston. If the different police departments over the country would apply more of your theories to their investigations they would solve a considerable larger amount of cases. Take the Denali murders in the District of Alaska. If you had not suspected the doctor was 'harvesting' people to use for experiments and killing them by using Strychnos toxifera, from the Amazons, so it would look like surgery gone wrong due to problems with anaesthesia, more people would have died. Have you applied any of your theories to the recent murders here? What evidence have you found?"

Eight pairs of eyes were staring at me, amazed, for a good while until Carlisle burst out laughing.

"Charlie, it would seem your daughter has inherited your knack for police work," he laughed and pounded my father on the back. "Bella, do you recall I had help on that case?"

"Of course, a Mr. R. M. Hale as I recall, but I had never heard of him before that. Still, the work was groundbreaking."

"It was not a Mr., but a Mrs."

"I do not understand…"

"My assistant was Mrs. Rosalie McCarty Hale, Bella."

"I…I…"

Before I could articulate a coherent sentence there was a knock on the door and a very pale looking detective was showed in.

"Sir," he nodded at my Father. "I'm sorry to disturb, but…"

"Another one?" my father asked.

"No, two, sir."

"Do we know who?"

"Yes, sir." Newton hesitated.

"Well spit it out Detective!"

"Reverend Weber and Mr. Stanley's daughters, Angela and Jessica."

A gasp went through the room, except for my father's low exclamation of profanities.

"I am sorry to cut our visit short. Bella, we need to leave."

"Let Bella stay here for the night, Charles," Esme said.

"That would probably be best. Thank you, Esme. Carlisle, I will need your help."

**Part the Fourth**

No one had felt like finishing dinner. Alice had been distraught, and Major Whitlock had taken her to their quarters to retire for the night with Esme in tow to comfort her daughter. Emmett and Edward had retired to the library for a drink while Rosalie showed me to a guest room. She had not uttered a word since we were introduced. It unnerved me, but she seemed comfortable in her silence. I was curious as to her work with Dr. Cullen.

"May I ask you a question, Mrs. McCarty?"

She didn't say anything, so I ventured on.

"Why did you pretend to be a man when you get published with your father?"

"I did not," she sighed. "There was no honorific in front of the name."

"Oh." _How eloquent Bella._ "Why did you add Hale to the end of your name then?"

"Hale is my mother's maiden name. If I had only put R. McCarty people would know who father's assistant was and his work might not be considered usable."

"I see…"

"As progressive as my family may be I would never jeopardize my father's work. It is too important to be disregarded because of a technicality, you know that. And being published on my own is not a possibility. The world is not ready for women scientists."

I could see the prospect of never being acknowledged for her work saddened her. I was too, but more than anything it infuriated me.

"Thank you, Mrs. McCarty. For everything."

Before Rosalie left my room, she turned towards me.

"No, thank _you_ , Bella. And please call me Rosalie, or Rose. Mrs. McCarty is my mother-in-law." She smiled. "Sleep well, Bella."

I feel asleep that night submerged in eiderdowns and dreaming of Rosalie and the murderer lose in Port Angeles.

I was rudely awaken the next morning by a strangely chipper Alice pulling the curtains open, two maids dragging a bronze tub into my room, and several other maids filling said tub with hot water.

"Wake up. Wake up. The sun is out, which is a miracle in these parts. Up you go," she chanted and pulled the covers off me. "We have things to do and people to call on."

I sat on the edge of my bed, watching as she directed the girls around and asked for more hot water and lavender soaps. She danced out of the room before I even had a chance to say good morning. I looked at my green dress with dismay. I had, for obvious reasons, not brought any extra clothes. The dress was not dirty by far, but it would have been nice to show up at breakfast wearing something other than the dress I had worn the night before. The dreaded corset was on a chair, but before I had time to contemplate my doomed fate as a perpetual corset wearer, Rosalie entered my room looking even lovelier than the night before in a yellow day dress.

"Good morning, Bella. I trust you rested comfortably?"

"Yes, I did. Thank you."

"Let us get you ready for the day. As you noticed Alice has plans and she is not to be dissuaded."

Rosalie took my hands and yanked me to a standing position. In one smooth motion she removed my night gown, I was naked underneath I might add. I tried to cover myself. Rosalie stopped, cupped my face in her hands, and whispered.

"You have nothing to be embarrassed about. You are beautiful." Her gaze drifted slowly over my body and a shiver went through me. "Now, let us get you into the tub. I will fetch you a cup of tea."

I climbed into the steaming water, dazed about what had just transpired. Rosalie was a married woman. There might be reasons why I did not wish to marry. Reasons nobody knew about, but Rosalie was married. She could not…

Rosalie brought me the tea to enjoy while I soaked in the lovely scented bath. Alice swirled back into the room like a miniature tornado on a mission, tsked at my dress and scurried back out. After I had finished my tea, I dried off and put on a robe that Alice had produced in her controlled madness of getting me ready for the day. Rosalie brought me a tray of fresh fruit and bread with honey to eat while she placed me at the dressing table to do my hair. She did not mention the incident from earlier.

"Bella, what is this thing you call a corset? It does not even fit you! Did you have a proper corsetiere make this?" Alice asked.

"Umm, no?"

"This will not do. Up you go. I need to measure you if I am to salvage this thing."

She pulled me to the middle of the room and started fussing over me with measuring tapes and various implements. Any sense of modesty was not to be tolerated, not that there was time to even contemplate such matters as Alice reigned over her craft. All the while, Rosalie was sitting patiently at the dresser sipping tea, appreciating the show. When Alice was done with her fussing she announced I would have my 'new' corset back within an hour. Esme entered shortly after and sat down to enjoy some tea with us.

"Alice is quite a force of nature," I said to no-one in particular.

"She was inconsolable last night. This will keep her mind off of things, so we should indulge her" Esme sighed.

True to her word, Alice was back within an hour with the corset.

"I will help her with it," Rosalie said. "You and Mother go find her a dress for the day."

Alice had also produced a pair of undergarments for me to wear, which I put on while Rosalie took care of the tray, and I donned the robe once again. When Rosalie came back she pulled me in front of a full length mirror, without saying a word. Standing behind me she untied the robe and slowly slid it off me without taking her eyes away from my reflection. She turned me around and placed the corset around my upper body, but not before letting her fingers lightly, almost unnoticeably, over my sides. Still looking me in the eyes, she hooked the front of the corset and then turned me around to lace the back. Her delicate fingers trailed across the laces, tucked and tightened, while her gaze never wavered from mine. It was more intimate than when she looked at my naked body. Too intimate. I shivered at the feel of her touch.

"So it is true then?" she whispered. "I suspected from the way you observed me last night. Have you…? No, you are too innocent." Her fingers never stopped their task.

"But…but…you are married?" I stuttered.

"Merely a marriage of convenience. Let us say my _husband_ also enjoys other…mmm…varieties. He and my brother are friends in different sense of the word. I do care for him immensely, but as companion not a lover."

I didn't have time to process what had been said before Alice came back with a dress deemed suitable for the day.

Alice and Rosalie took me on a tour of Port Angeles. The library was my main interest, but my expectations were too high as the library turned out to be nothing more than a shop size building with a mediocre collection of 'appropriate' books, which did not include any books on science or world history.

We enjoyed lunch at the town's only tea house. Of course, tea was served as well. I did not have the heart to tell them that I actually did not like tea.

As we left the tea house Alice stopped me to explain the plans for an opera house in town and gave a detailed lecture on the style and cost of such an endeavour. When we turned around, ready to proceed with the tour, Rosalie was gone, yet her glove lay discarded in the moody street.

"He has got her! The murderer took her!" I yelled as burst through the door of my father's office, where he was gathered with a group of officers.

"Bella what are you talking about?" There was an edge to my father's voice.

"Rose! One minute she was there, and then she was gone. He took her, I know he did." There was no plausible way for me to know, but deep down I was sure of my case.

"Maybe she went for a walk while you and Alice were otherwise occupied?" He attempted. "Where is Alice?"

"In the reception area. I sent an officer to fetch Mr. McCarty, Mrs. Cullen and the Major. Please Father, I have never asked you for anything but please trust me. I know he took her. Her glove. It was left in the middle of the street."

I took out the glove wrapped in a handkerchief so not to contaminate it. All the men had a shocked expression.

"What is it?"

"Get Dr. Cullen. Hurry!" My father snapped.

" _What is it?_ " I screamed.

My father had me sit down while he kneeled in front of me.

"The only evidence left behind with the other victims was a single glove," he said quietly.

_No. No. No. No…_

I fainted.

I woke in my own bed. Dr. Cullen was standing over me, and Esme held my hand.

"Any news? Have you found her?" I asked groggily.

"No, dear." Esme sniffed. "But we will. Rose is strong and level-headed. She can fend for herself."

"No, we've got to do something." I was not as steady on my feet as I had anticipated. Dr. Cullen caught me around the waist and sat me down on the bed.

"What has my father done to find her? What other evidence do they have?"

"Bella…" Dr. Cullen started, but I interrupted him before he had a chance to finish.

"No. We have to act, dammit."

"And we will, but right now you need to slow down."

"With all possible respect, Dr. Cullen. I cannot slow down. She has not been gone very look. I realize this is a hard position for you, but I need you to think. You examined the bodies of the other victims. We have to use your theories. What did they have in common? Please?"

I may not have been a police officer or even very rational at this point, but I knew I could help. Major Whitlock had come into the room to escort Esme back to the house. It would do her now good to stay in the middle of all this confusion and mayhem. Mr. McCarty was sitting, almost, paralyzed at my little desk. Rose had said she cared for him and I expect he did the same in his own way.

Dr. Cullen looked at me for a split second then closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"We know the murderer left a glove at each abduction site," he started. "Each of the five victims was found badly mutilated. Their hearts had been removed with skill but not with the precision like that of a surgeon, for example. From my findings I suspect it could be a hunter, which is not much to go by since everyone hunts here. It could be anyone," he hissed.

"Go on, Dr. Cullen. Was there anything else unusual?"

"Their skin. It was almost gone. Only the skin on their faces was intact, so they could be identified. The rest was either gone or blistered. It must have been done premortem. Oh dear God, Rose!"

"No, Dr. Cullen. There is no time for that now. You need to finish. What could have caused the skin to react like that?"

There was a pregnant pause before we both exclaimed the, to us, only plausible solution.

"Steam!"

Everybody in the room ran down the stairs to the police department. My father had gathered all available manpower and was briefing them before they were sent out to search for Rose.

"What places within a five mile radius of the town have steam powered apparatuses?" I yelled.

"What the devil?" Father exclaimed.

"Answer me. We'll need maps."

"Bella, what are you doing?"

"I realize we are intruding, but I beg you please listen. Bella might have discovered a way to find Rose. Please?" Dr. Cullen implored.

"Get us maps!" my father yelled.

We were all gathered around a large table with the maps scattered across it. Time was of the essence and we were wasting it. Everyone was talking over each other.

"Stop. This is not leading us anywhere," I said. "There are hundreds of places. We need to narrow it down. Which places are abandoned?"

We came up with only ten. Still too many for all of us for search.

"How many are in town?"

"Eight," one officer said. That left two.

_Much better odds._

"The old Black's copper plant," Rose's husband said. "The other one is up the mountain. It is too far to carry a person."

He had remained silent since the horrible news of Rose's abduction, but now he may just have found Rose's location. Whatever we would find, I was eternally grateful for his help.

"Do we all agree?" my father inquired.

There was a murmur of agreement going through the entire police department.

"Good. We split up in four teams when we get to the plant. One team on each side. And no heroics, we do not know what awaits us. Bella, you're staying here."

"I most certainly am not. I am just as much part of this as anyone else. Rose is my friend and I am going with you." I would be me dissuaded.

"Fine," he sighed. "But you do as I say. Are we clear?"

"Crystal."

**Part the Fifth**

The old Black's copper plant was desolate wooden structure four miles outside of Port Angeles. The thick pine forest kept it covered from the town. It had been around for only ten years, but a fatal accident made the mayor shut it down.

We had barely arrived when we heard an ear piercing scream coming from the building. Nothing. And then another.

Rose was alive.

As the realization hit me I started to run towards the building, but my father caught me before I made it three feet.

"You are staying here, I tell you. Do not do anything stupid. Let us do our jobs," he said through clenched teeth.

"I have to. I _have_ to. Please? She is…"

Something flickered across his eyes. Understanding? He had to let me go.

"Fine. You will just find a way in no matter what I do. You were always so stubborn."

"Thank you, Daddy." I hugged him tight for a while.

"Here take this," he said, and handed me his pistol. "Do you know how to use it?"

"Point and pull the trigger?"

I entered, alone, through the front doors. Everything looked like it was falling apart so I took care to watch my step. The overwhelming smell of copper reminded me of blood, that is, until I discovered that there actually was blood. Large amounts of it on every visible surface. I breathed through my mouth, pretending it was nothing but the smell of copper. I made my way through each room, but there was no sight of Rose or the murderer. I hated to admit it, but I had almost given up when I heard a low desperate cry coming from the basement.

_Rose._

She was tied to a chair in front of a large steam kettle. Her clothes were ripped and bloodied. She did not look like she was breathing. I prayed she was. Hurrying over, I gently shook her. She managed a small whimper.

"Rose, Rose," I whispered. "C'mon Rose, we have to leave."

I tried to untie her restraints but they were too tight. In my efforts I barely heard her mumble, "He is here".

"Well. Well. Well. Would you look at that? Two for the price of one. This must be my lucky day," a hoarse voice said.

The moment I saw his eyes I knew it was the same red-eyed man from yesterday.

"Allow me to introduce myself. I am James Laurent, but my friends call me Jack. So the Boss finally figured it out? I am so glad. This was getting tedious."

"No," I said and stared him right in the eyes as I lifted the pistol and fired all six rounds into him.

Cautiously, I walked over to the body of the murderer. All the bullets had missed, except for one. The only one that mattered.

A hunting knife and a letter lay beside him. I picked up the knife and hurried over to free Rose. I cradled her in my arms as she took a laboured breath.

"Here! We are down here! Help me!"

**Part the Last**

It had been two weeks since Rosalie's abduction. She was back in the bosom of her family, and I had been studying like never before. It seemed I had found a goal in life; solving crime. I wanted to study at the University of Washington, and I would do my utmost to achieve it. My father, of course, was not pleased. Yet, he had voiced his, reluctant, approval of my 'help' in saving Rosalie with his customary grunts and mutterings about how foolish I had been. In the end, Father had agreed to leave me to my own devices.

The time not used for studying, I spent thinking about Rosalie…and Emmett. They might have a marriage of convenience, but there was no doubt he cared for her. Emmett had been beside himself when she was abducted. The relief in his eyes when Rosalie was brought home had spoken volumes. Try as I might, I couldn't hate him. He was good natured, and he loved Rosalie in his own way. But not like I. _My Rose._

A gloom had settled over me. My Father thought it was from the traumatic experience I had been through, which he used as an excuse to insist on sending me back to my mother. Naturally, I refused and excused my state of mind with the awful weather and fatigue.

I had deliberately stayed away from the Cullens since Rosalie came home. They all needed time to heal. And in my mind's eye I could Rosalie and Emmett becoming closer than just companions. At least, that is what I told myself. One afternoon Rosalie came to visit. It felt awkward to have a walk through my room looking at my things.

"Why have you not been to the house?" She asked with no formalities.

"I thought it better to give you time to recuperate."

"Oh."

She walked over to my desked, picked up one of the books and turned towards me.

"Sappho?"

"Well, umm, yes. I have been trying to translate her, but it does not seem to go very well." I blushed.

With a soft pleading, Rosalie walked towards me.

_Throned in splendor, immortal Aphrodite!  
Child of Zeus, Enchantress, I implore thee  
Slay me not in this distress and anguish,  
Lady of beauty._

Everything was a blur. I did not hear her reciting more of the poem until she was standing directly in front of me. Her lips mere inches from mine.

_Come then now, dear goddess, and release me  
From my anguish. All my heart's desiring  
Grant thou now. Now too again as aforetime,  
Be thou my ally._

I think I died a little as her lips touched mine.

The End

_A/N: Nothing in this story is historically accurate. The brilliant thing with steampunk, and alternative history, is that it allows you to do whatever you want…and event awesome gadgets._

_The poem by Sappho Rose quotes is called Hymn to Aphrodite, and was translated in 1893 by William Hyde Appleton._

_Strychnos toxifera is a poisonous plant found in the Amazons._

_Drs. Johnston and Lewiston are not real._


End file.
